


which was my place and which was not

by pertunes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pertunes/pseuds/pertunes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it was anyone but Seabs, the knowing look on his face when he opens his hotel room door to Jonny would piss him off in some useless, petulant way. His body flashes hot to the old too-tight feeling of his skin at 19, but Seabs’ face, expectant and open, has that falling away quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	which was my place and which was not

**Author's Note:**

> a certain hockey player kind of ruined this all for me for awhile there, but man, seabs/tazer. there's just a whole slew of things i want to write about with them. even so, i've been quite nervous to post this.
> 
> thanks to anyone who has ever written or contributed to this fandom wide kneeling verse in anyway, all the love to you, this is me sort of dipping a toe into that water.
> 
> the title is from back to you by twin forks.

If it was anyone but Seabs, the knowing look on his face when he opens his hotel room door to Jonny would piss him off in some useless, petulant way. His body flashes hot to the old too-tight feeling of his skin at 19, but Seabs’ face, expectant and open, has that falling away quickly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Seabs asks, easy smile on his face, solid in his doorway, and Jonny is reminded once again that this is why Seabs is the one who has the room connecting to Artemi’s, why Seabs is the one who does this best.

Jonny leans on the doorframe. “I wanted to stop by, see how he’s doing.”

Seabs’ face turns amused, that wry smile that’s not unkind. “Not making rounds, are you?” he asks, lighting up his phone to check the time.

“No, no, I’m heading to bed soon,” he tells him, leaning impossibly harder in the doorway.

Seabs nods at him and steps to the side, holding the door open for Jonny to enter. “Only save the house calls for us then?” he chirps, and then winces when Jonny lets the door shut too loudly behind him. His eyes cut to the open connector door, the dark of Artemi’s room bleeding into Seabs’. “Jesus, I just got him all tucked in,” he admonishes, and Jonny knows he’s joking but.

“How is he?” he asks, standing awkwardly in the middle of Seabs’ room like he usually doesn’t.

He chews his lip and when he looks up, he catches Seabs giving him a once-over. Or doesn’t catch, because Seabs isn’t shy about the way his eyes are travelling over Jonny’s body, and he looks down at himself too, takes in his old sweats and t-shirt that’s just barely damp from his shower.

“What, no faith in your new A? I always did right by you, didn’t I?” Seabs says. He’s fiddling with his phone again, the alarms or something, and then he sits on the edge of his bed, giving Jonny that stare again.

“It was a hard hit,” Jonny says quietly, and this is the thing he sometimes fights with himself on, especially with Seabs, and now especially with Artemi, but he doesn’t care. He’s their captain and Seabs was his—Seabs was… He can make this his business if he wants to.

“It was,” Seabs says seriously, like he’s seeing Artemi go down in the last five minutes of the third just like Jonny is. “He got checked out, I made sure he did. Came back and he wanted to go to bed.”

Jonny’s eyes travel over to the dark doorway again. “’S good,” he says and has to clear his throat.

Seabs is quiet for a minute. “He didn’t want to kneel, when I asked,” he says, eyes level on Jonny’s face. “He’s been pretty good at deciding for himself.” There’s a pang in Jonny’s chest and the nostalgia on Seabs’ face holds the unspoken _not like you were_.

He nods jerkily, because that is the worry he came here to settle, the pit in his stomach that gets tangled up about rookies and language differences and their knees.

“That’s good,” Jonny repeats and has to clear his throat again. “Better than I ever was, yeah?” he laughs, and it comes out stiff.

They both freeze when they hear the rustle of Artemi in his bed, the movement of his sheets and a small snore after, and Jonny is suddenly struck by the memory of putting Maddie to bed once when she was just a baby, the look on Sharpie’s face when she snuffled in her sleep, and Jonny’s chest hurts again for a whole new reason.

“You know you can if you want, Jon,” Seabs says, breaking into his thoughts. His palms are resting on his knees, solid in the dim light of the room. “Whenever you need.”

Jonny scrubs a hand over his face. “No, good game tonight, right?” he says. “Another game winner.”

Seabs smiles softly. “That’s never stopped us,” he says.

Most of the typical practices haven’t; Jonny still kneels for him sometimes, Seabs has always left that door open, and he’s thankful. Whether he’s got a rookie or not, Jonny’s come to him like this, not even that long ago, at the end of a series sweep or a streak of no points and the feelings that come with it he’s just never been able to shake.

“Okay,” Jonny breathes out.

“Okay?” Seabs asks, and he tosses a pillow down at Jonny’s last nod.

There are not many things Jonny would consider himself an actual pro at, aside from the obvious, but like, kneeling, kneeling for Seabs, he thinks he’s mastered. He knows getting there is hard— _God_ , does he know—but this, leaning in so he can rest his head just at the bend of Seabs’ knee, where the end of his shorts meet his leg, this is easy. When he opens his eyes he can see Seabs’ feet on either side of his knees, soft and socked, and something finally rattles into place.

Seabs brings his hand up to the back of Jonny’s neck after a few minutes and Jonny lets his head tip to the side so nothing gets stiff.

“That didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” Seabs says fondly and Jonny snorts, the sound muffled to his own ears where he’s surrounded by Seabs. Seabs’ hand starts to move then, first through the short hair at the base of his skull and then up to the top of his head where it’s longer, and Jonny is inanely reminded he wanted to schedule a haircut.

His hands sit loosely in his lap and it’s nice now, that Jonny doesn’t need to use them for anything. He used to find himself gripping hard at Seabs’ ankles after particularly bad games, but it hasn’t happened in a long time.

One of Seabs’ hands comes to Jonny’s ear not currently turned into his thigh and he cups it, and for a moment Jonny’s world is blissfully silent save for the slow rush of his own blood, the noises of his body he’s grown used to, and he’s ready when Seabs takes his hand away.

“Hey,” Seabs says, sweeping his hand through Jonny’s hair again. “You did play well tonight.”

Jonny relaxes impossibly further. “Thanks,” his voice rumbles in his chest, against Seabs’ knee, “I know.”

He feels Seabs’ legs tense a second after that and then, “Hey,” he says again, but not to Jonny. His hand presses against Jonny’s head just the slightest, keeping him there, but Jonny only moves to turn his head and look at Artemi in the doorway of their connecting rooms.

“Did we wake you up?” Seabs says and Artemi shakes his head no, quiet where he stands. His eyes are bright behind the sleep and he’s smiling a bit, like he’s genuinely happy to see them. Jonny can see him look between Seabs and where Jonny is on the floor a few times, hesitant, and Jonny gives him what he hopes is a welcoming smile. He can never tell.

“You can sit if you want,” Seabs says, patting the space next to him. Jonny feels relieved when Artemi quietly pads over and scoots in next to them, sees it mirrored on Artemi’s face as he looks down at him, his captain kneeling for his alternate.

Seabs’ hand goes back to where it was, smoothing Jonny’s hair down where he’s mussed it, a never-ending cycle that gets Jonny’s eyelids drooping.

When he looks back up, Artemi’s not much farther behind him, drooping sleepily into Seabs’ shoulder, hint of a goose egg just starting at his hairline where he went into the boards.

“All good, yeah?” Jonny asks, his voice nearly gone, and he brings a hand up to where he connects with Seabs, thigh to thigh, looking between them earnestly in the hopes it will smooth out Artemi’s confused expression. He can’t bring himself to actually ask if Seabs is treating him right because it’s ridiculous and Jonny doesn’t know if Artemi will understand, but he needs them to know how proud he is of them, how they’re playing and where they are now.

Artemi blinks slowly, mouth parted and curls a mess. “Yeah,” he says, accented and rough like Jonny. “Yes.” He gently rocks his head into Seabs’ shoulder a few times, smiling down at Jonny.

He didn’t even know Seabs moved for the remote until he hears the TV click on, volume turned down to low background noise, and Seabs shifts just the slightest to catch the end of the replay of a Series baseball game, at the bottom of the ninth. Jonny wanted to catch this too but he doesn’t move from where he is, lets the shallow noise wash over him on the floor.

“Back to bed when this ends,” Seabs says, and Jonny sees Artemi nod, his eyes already closed. He doesn’t know which of them Seabs was talking to and it doesn’t really matter.


End file.
